Abaissés
by PregnancyandBabies
Summary: A pregnant prostitute is invited to join Les Amis
1. Chapter 1

p style="color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px; margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;"span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"Night had fallen over Paris, bringing with it a chill in the air. Elwen rubbed her hands together, in a feeble attempt to warm them up, huffing over her palms, her breath turning to mist in the cold air./span/p  
div style="color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px;" /div  
p style="color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px; margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;"span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"It was late September, and winter was only just beginning, a few leaves still clinging to the trees. She pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders, but it was thin and so did little against the cold. She kept walking, though with no destination in mind. No longer could she earn money on her back, the way she had used to. Before she had been able to earn as much as 20 sous in a night, simply by plastering a smile onto her face and pretending to enjoy whatever her client asked for./span/p  
div style="color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px;" /div  
p style="color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px; margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;"span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"Now, however, with rounded belly, she could not work as she had before. She was no longer alone in her misery, for now she had yet another burden straining on her weary body – though this time, she could not bring herself to think cruelly of it. How could she, when that burden was a child? Her very own child. She could not honestly say who the father was, but she liked to believe it was that ship's captain. He had, at least, been kind and well-bred./span/p  
div style="color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px;" /div  
p style="color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px; margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;"span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"Then she smiled, her usually dulled thoughts taking a much brighter turn, for she realised that the father did not matter at all, because whoever he was, he had no claim on the child inside of her. No, this babe was hers, and hers alone. She rested a hand on her stomach, imagining she could feel movement, despite knowing by the swell of the bump that it was much too early for any such happenings./span/p  
p style="color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px; margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;"span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"Sounds of laughter and singing caught her attention. She turned a few corners, to find herself facing a tavern, a roughly painted sign above the entrance proclaiming it to be 'Chez Thenardier'. Inside, she could see all kinds of people – well, not all kinds. They were all rich enough to drink their lives away, and too poor to afford any place better. She decided to go inside – purchasing drink would at least mean she would be able to sit by a fire for a few minutes. As she walked in, she was met by a couple proclaiming themselves to be the 'best innkeepers in town'. A lie, of course. Even Elwen was not so naive as to think that they weren't like the rest of them – thieves and crooks. Which was why she kept a tight hold on her shawl and money. The wife of the landlord came over at one point, with a drink, and smiled gently, asking, 'You alright, deary?' Elwen had simply nodded, now sitting down by the fire, she rested her eyes for a moment, the warmth lulling her into relaxation./span/p  
div style="color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px;" /div  
p style="color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px; margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;"span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"When she opened them again, what could have been minutes or hours later, she realised that despite her efforts and intentions walking in to the place, both her shawl and the little money she had was gone./span/p  
div style="color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px;" /div  
p style="color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px; margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;"span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);""Merde." She whispered, hardly noticing being ushered out by the landlord, who was quite keen to get rid of her now that she had nothing to offer./span/p  
div style="color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px;" /div  
p style="color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px; margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;" /p  
p style="color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px; margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;"span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"Luckily, by this hour, it was getting light, and with the sun came a little more warmth. Elwen went back to wandering the streets, rubbing her arms to try and stay warm in the absence of her shawl./span/p  
p style="color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px; margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;"span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"By the time night fell again, however, Elwen was not so optimistic. This time there was more than a simple chill in the air – night had brought with her an icy breeze that chilled Elwen to the bone. She kept walking for as long as she could, but soon enough the hunger and cold slowed her limbs, making every step she took feel as if she was weighed down with lead. /span/p  
div style="color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px;" /div  
p style="color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px; margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;"span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"At some point, though she couldn't quite remember when, she had sat down, and before long she lay on the ground, the cold of the floor no longer sharp and biting – instead, she simply felt numb as she curled up./span/p  
div style="color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px;" /div  
p style="color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px; margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;"span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"***/span/p  
div style="color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px;" /div  
p style="color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px; margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;"span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"Dieu, it was cold. Combeferre thought, shivering as he left his apartment. It was not even October yet, and though there was no snow on the ground, there was a definite frostiness to the cool wind, chilling him even through his coat./span/p  
div style="color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px;" /div  
p style="color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px; margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;" /p  
p style="color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px; margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;"span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"He turned to lock his door behind him before beginning the walk to the Musain. He barely had to think about where to walk now – he made this trip so often now that his legs simply found their way there without him even concentrating. The café had become like a second home to him – in fact, being there was so much more pleasant than simply staying at home, most likely due to the friends that surrounded him./span/p  
p style="color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px; margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;"span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"Of course – it wasn't him that they surrounded, not really. It was Enjolras, their 'fearless leader', as he was affectionately called by everyone save Grantaire, who simply called him 'Apollo'. Combeferre didn't blame them – Enjolras was magnetic enough to keep their group of misfits together, and Combeferre was always by his side. He half smiled to himself, thinking he could already hear the singing from inside the café – which was unsurprising, usually Grantaire or Courfeyrac struck up a tune, and if it was particularly rousing then the sound would often carry into the streets of the city./span/p  
div style="color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px;" /div  
p style="color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px; margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;"span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"He was broken out of his reverie by a rattling cough coming from a shape on the ground on the side of the road. With a closer look, he realised that it was woman – and a heavily pregnant woman at that. Shivers wracked her small form, and he realised that she was without a coat or blanket, and she had curled up on the ground in an attempt to be able to cover her arms with some of the folds of her dress./span/p  
div style="color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px;" /div  
p style="color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px; margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;"span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"He stooped beside her, carefully reaching out to touch her frail shoulder. "Madame?" He asked quietly. "Are you alright there…?" At his touch, soft though it was, she tensed. At first, she gave no reply, and Combeferre was about to check that she was conscious still when she finally answered with a small voice "'m fine, M'sieur."/span/p  
div style="color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px;" /div  
p style="color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px; margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;"span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);""Forgive my imprudence, madame, but I'm afraid you do not look it. Have you somewhere you can go where you can get warm?"/span/p  
div style="color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px;" /div  
p style="color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px; margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;" /p  
p style="color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px; margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;"span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);""Please… leave me alone. Even if I strongcould /strongwalk there, I have nowhere to go."/span/p  
p style="color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px; margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;"span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);""Well, I'm on my way to a lovely little café – the Musain? You may know it. It is but a two minute walk from here. Perhaps you would accompany me? You could warm yourself by the fire, have a bite to eat." He offered./span/p  
div style="color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px;" /div  
p style="color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px; margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;"span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"After all, he could hardly call himself 'un Ami de L'ABC' if he simply did nothing to help this poor woman, Combeferre thought. The others would hardly mind him bringing her along./span/p  
div style="color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px;" /div  
p style="color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px; margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;"span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"***/span/p  
div style="color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px;" /div  
p style="color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px; margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;"span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"Elwen frowned, looking up at the man who was offering her help. She was a little suspicious – in her line of work, or at least, the line of work that used to be in, men saw her as little more than objects, and certainly not a person to freely give aid to./span/p  
div style="color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px;" /div  
p style="color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px; margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;"span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);""What's the catch?" She asked, sullenly, expecting him to ask for sex, or to cut off her hair, or even her first-born child. She almost snorted out loud at the last one./span/p  
div style="color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px;" /div  
p style="color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px; margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;" /p  
p style="color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px; margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;"span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);""No catch, Madame, I simply wish to help. If you'll let me?" With that, he proffered his hand. It was clean – not a very common sight on the streets of Paris. The man must have some money to his name – or his family's name, at any rate. Elwen was still suspicious, but by now, she was desperate./span/p  
p style="color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px; margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;"span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"Not for herself, but more for the child who grew inside of her, who she already felt she had such a bond with, who she already cared so much for. And, as if having read her mind, the man continued. "This cold cannot be good for the child, Madame."/span/p  
div style="color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px;" /div  
p style="color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px; margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;"span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"At that, Elwen nodded, and took his hand. The young man pulled her up to her feet. Once she stood up, he removed his coat and wrapped it around her, before placing his arm around her back, surreptitiously taking as much of her weight as he could, short of physically lifting her up and carrying her. He then begun to walk, taking each step in tandem with her./span/p  
div style="color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px;" /div  
p style="color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px; margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;"span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"Now that she was stood up beside him, she could see his face better. He had light brown hair, and a strong set jaw – but what stood out most was his eyes, which somehow managed to convey comfort and kindness without him uttering a single word./span/p  
div style="color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px;" /div  
p style="color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px; margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;"span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"Soon enough, they reached a lively café, with laughter emitting from it. A man with black, curly hair and a look not dissimilar from that of an excited puppy saw them coming, and shouted out "Combeferre!"/span/p  
div style="color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px;" /div  
p style="color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px; margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;"span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"It was at that moment that Elwen realised she had not even learnt the man's name. Combeferre./span/p  
p style="color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px; margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;" /p  
div style="color: #454545; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px;"span style="line-height: 15.693333625793457px; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);""Come on, Madame. Let's get you – and the little one - warmed up." He said to her with a smile, leading her inside./span/div 


	2. Chapter 2

"Who's this?" is the predominant question in the room, with it being asked in some variation by at least five of the men – all of whom, Combeferre seems to know, and know them very well at that.

In fact, the entire group seems quite close, with wine and jokes being bandied around the room, accompanied by friendly touches and warm smiles. The men who had been laughing and singing a moment earlier automatically parted to allow Elwen and Combeferre the most direct access to the hearth. At no more than a look from Combeferre, one of their number quickly brings over a steaming hot mug of tea.

"Madame," Combeferre begins, a hand resting on her shoulder "Perhaps you would grace me with your name?" He asks quite formally, and yet with a friendly smile on his face.

"It's… ah, It's Elwen." She replies quickly, stuttering slightly, as she smiled in return.

"A beautiful name." He responds, before adding "And a beautiful smile – That's the first time I've seen it, and I sorely hope it in not the last."

At that, Elwen can't help but smile even wider, even blushing a little at the gentleman's words.

"Are these… all your friends?" She asks, changing the subject away from her smile.

"Yes, and yours too." He says, grinning slightly- his words earning a chuckle from the nearest man, as if Combeferre had just said some private joke. "We call ourselves Les Amis de L'ABC… well, l'abaissé. A terrible pun, I know. Blame Courfeyrac." He gestures to the man who had just chuckled – the same man that had first welcomed them to the Musain, and the one who had brought Elwen her drink.

"Call me Courf. And it's an excellent pun, I think you'll find." Courfeyrac picks up Elwen's hand and presses a kiss to her knuckles. "Enchanté."

Combeferre rolls his eyes at the other man, before sitting down next to Elwen, gently resting his arm on the back of her chair, his sleeve ghosting against her shoulder blades. He then begins to point out and name each of his friends in turn.

"That's Jehan – well, his name is Jean Prouvaire, but we call him Jehan. He's a poet." He said the last sentence as if that explained everything – both the name and the… intriguing fashion sense.

"He's not just **a** poet, he's an amazing poet. He can paint a masterpiece with nothing but his words-" Courfeyrac butted in

"Yes, Courf. He's a very good poet." Combeferre says, a little exasperated but also rather fondly. He continues "There, over there is Bahorel – and next to him is Feuilly. There's Bossuet. Over there you've got Marius – he's a Pontmercy, but don't let that fool you, he's got the kindest heart of any of us here. Trailing behind him there is 'Ponine. Poor girl… Marius may be kind-hearted, but he's absolutely clueless." He shakes his head. He continues to point out a few others. "… And over there by the wine in Grantaire. He's… a bit of a cynic. He is not cruel, of course not. He just… Well, they say that in every pessimist is a disappointed idealist, and Grantaire has certainly been disappointed enough times to warrant that label." He tries to explain carefully.

Elwen nods along with each name, trying to commit at least some of them to memory. "How's your tea?" Combeferre asks. " I didn't think you would want wine…" He glances down at her baby bump.

"The tea's good. And yes, no wine is good." She replies simply.

"Madame…" He begins. "You'll have to forgive me for inquiring this, such a personal question of you, but I must ask – why does the child's father not care for you? Where is he, the man that would leave the mother of his babe out on the street on such a cold night?"

Elwen goes pale at his question – because she knows she will have to answer it. She can't bring herself to lie to this man who has been so kind to her, but she finds she wants to. Not out of malice – but because she is certain that once he finds out the truth, he will throw her out. Throw her out of this lovely café, with kinder people than Elwen has ever met. She's warmer than she has been in months, and feels safer than she thinks she ever has been, with this man she barely knows.

Nonetheless, she bites her lip and responds, though not without some hesitance. "I… he was a, uh, client. I don't know him… I have no way to tell him. It's just me, me and the child." She says quietly, waiting for the horrified gasp, waiting for him to usher her out.

He raises his hands, and she flinches, but rather than the blow she was expecting, she feels him wrap her arms around her.

"My apologies." He says quietly, partly into her hair. They are silent for a moment, before he asks "Would you like some casserole?"

"…What?" Elwen is stunned silent.

"Would you like some casserole?" He repeats, like it is the most ordinary thing in the world.

"That's it? I've just admitted that I'm… I'm… a whore, and you just… offer me apologies? And casserole?"

You, like so many others, do what you have to do to survive – the only line of work that out abhorrent society has left open to you. It is not you that I blame for your position, it is the leaders of our land who let this happen, the bourgeoisie who sit in their mansions and do nothing to help. You are free of fault."

They are both silent for a moment, though it isn't awkward- it's time for Elwen to process what he has said, time to realise that she isn't going to be thrown out, time to understand that Combeferre… cares. It is time that the man is willing to give her, quietly sitting there and offering comfort to her merely by his presence.

"Yes." She says, after a while.

"Mmm?"

"Yes, I would like some casserole."

"Good." He grins, passing her request onto a waiter, before turning his joyous gaze to her. His happiness seems infectious, because once more, Elwen finds herself returning his smile.

"There's that beautiful smile again!" He says, causing her to, once again, blush like a young maiden.

People suddenly quiet down as someone else walks into the café, a tall man with a halo of golden hair and a visage not dissimilar to that of a marble statue. He's hard to miss – with his red and gold waistcoat that would probably look gaudy on anyone else, and yet seems to belong on this man's breast. His gaze sweeps the room, a little sternly. For a moment, his ice-blue eyes settle on Elwen, as if evaluating her, before he goes on towards the front of the room.

The people who had just been milling around before seem to congregate now, with the man who Combeferre had pointed out to be Grantaire sitting down at the same table as the Elwen, Combeferre and Courfeyrac.

"Who's he?" Elwen has to ask.

"Ah yes." Combeferre smiles. "That is-"

"Our fearless leader."

"Enjolras."

"Apollo."

The three men each give a different answer, the first – Courfeyrac, smirking slightly. Combeferre's voice is respectful, and the cynic's tone full of unspoken adoration.

The man – Enjolras – begins to speak. His words are about the poor, about the prostitutes, about cripples, about all the abaissé – He then calls for help, for followers, for the people to rise.

By the end of it, the whole room looks like they are ready to take up arms against the monarchy – even the cynic two places to Elwen's right.

Including Combeferre – the man now had a fire in his eyes, a burning passion, though more subdued than some of the others – for he isn't shouting out, and yet, it's none the less intense. He looks at Elwen, and then she notices something – it's not just at Enjolras' words, not just at the suffering of the wider people, that he has gained this look, though they were perhaps the spark. But on top of that, Elwen can see a fierce protectiveness in him, a desire to help her, comfort her… hold her.

To care for her.


End file.
